Jane Campion

Jane Campion's biopic An Angel At My Table feels far more epic in its devotion to writer Janet Frame's small moments than courtroom scenes that turn history into playacting and battle sequences that turn soldiers into figurines. These are the films women should be making. They are often the films I want to see, particularly if they fail to receive Academy recognition.

In Two Friends, leads Emma Coles and Kris Bidenko deliver nuanced, ingenuous performances as polar opposites Louise and Kelly. The movie documents the dissolution of their childhood friendship following Louise's acceptance into an elite girls' academy that Kelly's stepfather refuses to let her attend. I chose 1986's Two Friends for a few reasons. Its status as an Australian TV movie is exceptional, though it screened at the Cannes Film Festival as well. Helen Garner's script unfolds in reverse chronology. Though she only wrote a few screenplays, Garner has since enjoyed a long career in her native Australia as a novelist and journalist. Finally, as a follow-up to Campion's breakthrough short film, A Girl's Own Story, Two Friends is one of Campion's few films to foreground the fragile nature of adolescence and female homosocial bonding. Typical of her output, it does so with nary a hint of condescension.

This morning’s Entertainment Weekly PopWatch blog featured a "Made Us Think" comment that provides us a choice topic for discussion over here at Bitch; particularly considering our recent discussions about women directors.

"Today’s Made Us Think comment comes from "Elly," who writes in response to Missy Schwartz’s interview with Jane Campion,

 

I suspect a large reason there are so few well-known female filmmakers may be that so many female writers, directors etc. are too focused on the lack of "just for women" entertainment, and so tend to turn out stuff with distinct agendas for distinct female audiences — i.e. the ‘empowerment’ Campion spoke of — instead of just focusing on making a good product. I see it all the time in books – I rarely read sci-fi or fantasy by female authors, because the story is usually just there as a weak afterthought to help move the rant along, the real point of the book being to obsess over what patriarchal pigs men can be. Case in point: Margaret Atwood.

That’s one theory, and it certainly got us thinking. What about you?"

As to be expected, responses in the comments section ranged from ignorant to sound: